


tis the damn season

by Areiton



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, POV Second Person, Pining, Small Towns, Steve Rogers-centric, Student Steve Rogers, Unhealthy Relationships, famous tony stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:14:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28036002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: It’s a hot sweaty summer day, and Tony is naked next to you, when you realize you can never keep this.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Other(s), Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 14
Kudos: 129





	tis the damn season

**Author's Note:**

> Like everyone else, I'm obsessed with Taylor Swift's new album, evermore. The whole thing is giving me fic feels, but this one screamed stony so. Here we go.

You get the phone call when you’re walking to class. Your fingers are cold and chapped and you think you might have left your gloves at Sam’s place. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Tony purrs and you stumble over a step. “I’ll be at my parents all month. If you wanna see me.” 

You swallow hard, and your whole body feels numb, and you think that’s not because of the cold.

“Yeah,” you hear yourself say. “I--yeah.” 

~*~ 

The first time you fuck Tony Stark, the leaves are falling and the air smells like bonfires and the first snow of the year. You’re sweaty from the championship game and he’s grinning at you when he goes to his knees behind the bleachers of a now deserted field and sucks you off like he’s done it a thousand times, his eyes bright shining in the dark and when you kiss him as you groan and sink into his tight warm body, he tastes like your cum and popcorn. 

~*~ 

Tony is waiting when you pull up, nose red and bundled in a heavy coat, and his eyes are laughing as he slides into the seat next to you. “Thought you wanted to trade this in, Steve,” he teases, and it doesn’t sting the way it does when it’s Sam, because Tony has never understood your life--you think maybe if he did, you could have more than stolen moments on deserted streets, hiding in plain sight before he vanishes back to his life in California, to the hungry cameras and the pretty faces that always want more. 

“It’s alright,” you murmur and his fingers, icy cold and so damn real it drives out the thought that this is just a daydream--your favorite daydream--twist with yours. “When do you have to be back?” 

He smiles. “Not til tomorrow night.” 

You lean over and kiss him, fleeting and chaste, a brush of scruff against cool chapped lips, and then pull back and hold his hand in yours as you drive home. 

~*~ 

He still fits. 

In your messy apartment, with Alpine perched on his knee, and a cracked mug in his hand, chattering about a new part he’s taken. 

In your messy sheets, sprawled naked and beautiful in the lowlight, eyes fixed on you as you strip and crawl over him, moaning at the feel of his skin. 

In your body, thrusting hard while you curse, fists caught in the sheets and his teeth dug into your skin, a biting kiss that’s driving you  _ crazy.  _

In your arms, after, when he curls sleepy and warm and sated, and there’s no need for words about a life you can’t share and the question you won’ let yourself ask. 

In your heart and you don’t let yourself think about that, not even here, not even in the quiet of your own mind. 

He still fits. 

~*~ 

The first time you realize you love Tony Stark, it’s in a springtime rain and he’s laughing, jumping in mud puddles in a tux so expensive you didn’t realize people actually made clothes that cost that much. His hair is dripping in his eyes and his mouth is red and wet and open in laughter, raw and unguarded, the kind of real that he never lets the hungry cameras see, the kind of real and unguarded you are getting more and more. 

He’s the brightest thing in a grey day, and your heart twists, squeezes, turns over and you realize abruptly that he’s got the whole damn thing in his hand, that your his, that you love him. 

He smiles, and holds out a hand and you kiss him in the pouring rain, mud on your fingers and his laughter on your lips. 

~*~ 

You wake up to this: 

Tony’s hair, fluffy and unruly, tickling your chin, his breath warm puffs against your skin, his leg tossed over yours. 

Tony’s hands gripping yours and winter weak sunlight casting him pale and golden in your dark sheets. 

Tony’s smile, sweet and sleepy, tilting up at you, a thousand times more beautiful than the smiles you see shining up from magazine covers and your shitty broken phone screen. 

You wake to Tony in your bed and not just your dreams, and you kiss him and steal a picture, because this is precious, this time you hoard and treasure, and he laughs into your mouth, sleepy and pliant and the warmest thing in the bitter cold. 

~*~ 

You roll out of bed and snag your boxers while Tony makes unhappy noises in your sheets, languorous and lazy stated. 

He looks like a satisfied kitten, half inclined to sleep, and you brush a kiss over his lips before you wander out to make coffee. 

There’s a note from Bucky, and you pour Alpine some kibble and text him your thanks, and then retreat back to your bedroom, goosebumps pebbling your skin. 

Tony is still in bed, but the sheets have been kicked aside, and his pale skin has a pretty flush to it, mouth hanging open as he pants and fucks himself on three fingers. 

You almost drop the coffee, and it’s forgotten when he says, “C’mere.” 

You grip his hips and fight to keep your eyes open, basking in the heat of him around you, and the sight of him riding you, the sweat beading his lip and the dazed pleasure in his pretty eyes and the way his kiss bitten lips mouth your name. 

When he comes, it’s screaming and you fall over the edge with him, spilling hot and wet in his body and in this little haven, it feels like the world and winter can never touch you. 

~*~ 

It’s a hot sweaty summer day, and Tony is naked next to you, when you realize you can never keep this. 

He’s sticky and still breathing heavy, and so fucking beautiful it makes your breath catch in your chest, like your asthma is acting up again, but it hasn’t in years--this is Tony, just him, impossible and brilliant and beautiful.

And already, looking away, gaze caught on the messages waiting for him, mind pulled by the life that’s waiting for him. 

You love him, and you know--you’ve always known--he is bigger than this little town, this tiny apartment that’s too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter, that’s he’s worth more than backseat fucks and blowjobs behind the bleachers. 

You’re sticky and breathless from your orgasm, and he’s curled in your bed and it’s so hot you can barely breath, and you love him, you  _ love him.  _

And you can’t keep him. 

~*~ 

“Let me draw you,” you say, later, after coffee and bacon, after a shower more dirty than not, when you’re too fucked out to fuck again, and he’s sprawled on your dirty rug, playing with Alpine, and the request spills out all unexpected. 

He flicks a smile at you, and reaches for your sketchbook, and you realize, abruptly, the flaw in this plan. 

Tony makes a noise, thoughtful and assessing and there’s something cool in his gaze when it flicks back to you, before he flips the pages. 

The Carter cousins. Rumlow. One that can’t be anything but Bucky’s broad shoulders. 

Even old man Fury is in there, and Tony makes a noise, something startled and amused. 

“You left,” you say, helpless. 

“I don’t care who you fuck,” Tony says, but the words ring cold and harsh in the room, the first note of dissonance, and you bite back anger, because _ he left you. _

“Are any of them better than me?” he asks, rolling to his side and staring up at you, the flirty smirk that you see on that fucking show that made him a household man, the one that peers up at you from glossy magazine covers. 

You shake your head, helpless. 

How could they be, when they aren’t him? 

~*~ 

He stays until the sky goes dark, until his phone rings, his mother’s voice cool and cultured and calling him away, and you watch him, as he dresses himself, as he puts on all the pieces of armor that he wears into the world that hides away the man you love. 

Because it’s how he does this--how he can give the hungry cameras and clamoring fans so much of himself. By giving them all something that’s smoke and mirrors and lies. 

You hate it, seeing him like this, distant and cool and untouchable, because this is the Tony you don’t know, that is everything you can’t have. 

When he’s like this, you can’t see a future, can’t see the  _ what might have been _ that keeps you dreaming in the long seasons when he is gone. 

“Tony,” you whisper and he shivers, and comes into your arms, one last time, and he’s still beautiful, in his tux and his perfect hair and shark’s smile, but his hands are gentle on your skin, and his cock is hot and hard and he fucks you slow and sweet, syrupy kisses pressed to your lips and gasps thick in the air while you writhe on his dick and mewl for more and cling to the dream for just one second more. 

~*~ 

It’s snowing and he smells like the quick rough fuck in the back of your car, when you realize you can’t do this to yourself anymore. 

Tony is like a dream and a mirage and a hurricane--and you can’t keep him. Trying is only driving you mad, and twisting up all the good things in your life. Peggy still won’t speak to you. Bucky leaves anytime Tony comes to town and treats you like your fragile, a touch away from shattering when he inevitably leaves. 

You know he’s hurting you, that  _ this _ is hurting you. But the years stretch in front of you without him, and his come-drunk smile, real and raw and unguarded flash in your mind, curl up at you from your messy sheets, and you don’t know how to say no when his voice rasps down the line and says, “I’m in town.” 

~*~ 

He leaves. 

You knew he would. Even if he’s still in town, he’s gone, slipped back into the world that he inhabits, lit up by the gaze of cameras and lights and demanding parents. 

He leaves. 

But when you’re walking, cold fingered and numb, and a car slows as it passes, you see his gaze, brown eyes dim and fixed on you, and you wonder how someone with the whole world at his feet could look so lonely and sad. 

~*~ 

You slip into the back of a waiting car, and Tony slides into your lap, his fingers cold and demanding on your skin and his kiss is hungry and desperate, begging for something he won’t put into words, not until he’s collapsed against your chest, come sliding from his body, your dick still hard in him. 

“I don’t--I’m so fucking  _ tired, _ ” he says, and you hold him close, his head against your shoulder. 

“Sleep, sweetheart,” you say, even though you both know he’s saying  _ more.  _

He hums, and you shift him to the spread of coats and lap blankets on the bench, curl him in your arms and warmth and let your eyes close as the snow falls beyond the windows. 

You’re dreaming, you think, when he whispers, “Ask me to stay.” 

~*~ 

It’s New Year’s and Bucky is staring at you, wide-eyed, while you watch an interview, watch Tony on your tiny cracked phone screen and he’s laughing and saying, “I don’t know. The city is great, and I love it. But there’s something to be said about finding out what’s at the end of the path not taken.” 

There is snow in the air and under your boots and he looks beautiful and he’s smiling into the camera and staring at it, staring at  _ you,  _ real and raw and unguarded, and saying, “I’d stay, if I had a reason to.” 

It’s New Year’s when you realize--you can keep him. 

~*~ 

There are people everywhere, the airport crowded and the air feels stale and thin and still, but you’re running, and it feels like it’s stinging your lungs too, and he’s there, with Rhodey at his side, and a leather bag over one shoulder, smiling as he signs something for a fan, and you--

“ _ Tony!”  _

His head snaps up and there’s sunshine bright hope there, and lonely winters and rainy kisses and lazy spring mornings in bed, a whole future of  _ him _ , waiting hopeful. 

You don’t know how you never saw it, but you  _ see _ it, now. You catch him in your arms, and he fits there, has always fit there, and his smile is small but growing, when you say, “ _ Stay.”  _

~*~ 

There is this, still-- 

Cold mornings and numb fingers on your way to class. 

Hungry cameras and demanding fans, and Tony’s face on glossy magazines. 

Coffee cold and forgotten while you fuck him in his messy sheets that slip like the softest silk against your skin. 

His eyes, bright and laughing, his smile, real and raw and unguarded, filling up pages in your sketchbook, and your mornings and your nights. 

There is still--

Quick messy blowjobs in his Mother’s guest bath, him biting cries into your suit while you finger him in the back of a limo, his body writhing on your cock in the mornings when you are warmed only by the heat of him. 

There is this--

Him, here, walking the path not taken, hand in hand with you. 

~*~ 

It’s Christmas Eve and cold and he’s been yours for a year now and he watches you open a ring on Christmas Eve, and you realize, then, that you get to keep him forever. 


End file.
